


Somebody else

by Devian



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Past Relationship(s), Regret, blackwall and inquistor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16087037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devian/pseuds/Devian
Summary: And in that same moment, something in her eyes break. There is no more shine, no pretty melted chocolate orbs looking for something else: it's just as if she is looking at the real him, and it scares him to death for a second, fearing she already knows. But she doesn't."It's not fair. It sounds as if I'm... Forcing you". She barely whispers, her head moving a bit, then looking down at the floor, as if she cannot stand him. And Blackwall understands. "You should want it too."[i was NOT happy about Blackwall's "confessing" scene, got me angry??? no bitch want me or leave me, don't "i want you but you are too good for me im too bad buabua" confuse me. no doubt cullen is my #1 babe]





	1. Regret

**Author's Note:**

> First of all! This is not a story that ships Blackwall and the Inquisitor, so don't get your hopes up. The pair tagged is Cullen and Inquisitor, which we will see more of in the next chapters! I know the first one is short, but I just had to get it out of my chest after seeing this romance scene.

Yes, the first weeks had been hell between the two of them, Blackwall knows that much. Had he been foolish, stupid? Yes, without a doubt too. Things however had calmed down after, and it almost was as if everything was just right as the beginning. Which was quite comforting. Maybe, he believed, there was a chance still for feelings to flourish, to talk about it even. No banter no jokes had been told about them again, and there was not a sentence in which the names "Blackwall" and "Inquisitor" had been next one to each other. Rumours spread quickly.

He still remembers the night he came to her room; it was dark, cold, and the rain had just stopped. Ironically, he had entered her chambers like a bandit; Blackwall had admired her figure in contrast with the fire: lean, slightly taller than himself, with such a delicate and gorgeous waist, her locks of black hair looking a bit humid even, still, from their visit to that ruin. She was gorgeous. Blackwall had been sincere then: just that time, he had allowed himself to open his heart a bit, confessing the necessitiy to see her. The Inquisitor. Someone who he thought of so highly, that the idea of being with them, romantically, seemed impossible. Such a woman, with someone like him? Unrealistic. Worthless. 

But just then, just after they've come back from that ruin, he had had the necessity to hold her, kiss her, but most of all see her. He could just have stared at her on her own a whole night, as bad and perverted as it sounded. When no one was looking, he had learnt, she seemed younger and a bit like a child, in the best way of course. Her eyes had a shine of their own every time she encountered a new  _human artifact._ Everyone knew she was of Dalish culture, specifically from the Lavellan's of the north in Ferelden; some elves had some contact when trading or the few visits they payed to the city, but not her it seemed. The bow she carried, all that had belonged to her at some point, were made for her own hands, for her height, her way of drawing the bow: she was a hunter, had always been, everyone could tell. Some of her manners were not correct, and Josephine had had a hard job correcting some bad habits; Blackwall believes she would have not tried as hard had she not seen something in her. Which he did too. Although the dalish Inquisitor had never played the Game, she was quite good at talk, at persuading nobles and most of all, inspiring people. She did that to him. Made him believe almost he was worthy of her.

Blackwall tortures himself repeating that night, in which he had kissed her, felt her tight clothes with his hands just before the storm had begun. Because in that moment, with the fire, the bed behind them, and the slightly but still warm skin of the Inquisitor, it had felt wrong. Like nothing was made for him, like he didn't belong there. He desperately wanted to give in - to give in and thank the Maker for creating such a creature for him to behold, admire. But he also wanted to curse his luck, the Void, the skies for encountering her, for getting to know her lips because he won't be able to forget them for a very long time. 

He was just a lie. She was the warmth of the sun on winter days; the Truth, the one that is pure and well-intentioned; the ray of light in all the mudness, all the madness. She was tied by traditions, by the Inquisition, and did he wanted to be one burden more? She would have no life with him once she knew the truth, once everything ended. And still he could not help but try to think of a future with her: and still, he never was enough. He didn't had the courage to end things, to tell her that he did not want her. Blackwall did. Always will, possibly. Being a coward, then, is the best solution: so he lets her decide.

And in that same moment, something in her eyes break. There is no more shine, no pretty melted chocolate orbs looking for something else: it's just as if she is looking at the real _him_ , and it scares him to death for a second, fearing she already knows. But she doesn't. 

 "It's not fair. It sounds as if I'm... Forcing you". She barely whispers, her head moving a bit, then looking down at the floor, as if she cannot stand him. And Blackwall understands. "You should want it too."

 He has no answers, because he knows it's right. The Inquisitor is always right. Thus, he just asks for forgiveness, and says goodnight. Her face looks strong, but his mouth is quite making something he can only describe as  _sad._ Maybe  _disappointed._ Blackwall hears no cry while he goes down the stairs, but... But he cannot help but turn and look a last time to her shadow: shoulders moving, trembling, and she seems smaller.

They haven't been alone in a room since then. Still, Blackwall seems to be a favorite for recon and expeditions, which doesn't lessen the awkwardness of the first days; it's rare to not participate on the usual and somewhat funny banter of always, but it just feels wrong to act as always. Even Dorian seems uncomfortable at times when his quick-wit occasionally and somewhat funny jokes aren't received as well as they used to: their fights were quite known, and it was usually the Inquisitor to stop them, but she is quiet most of the time. The Inquisitor's eyes seem more focus and wander less on herbs which she used to stop by before. No one minded, and no one had complained; but things have changed, and they just beat more monsters, close some breach from time to time and rest and drink a bit before parting again... And it kind of repeats.

* * *

 But things get better. Slowly.

The Inquisitor gets closer with Dorian, and opens up eventually again to Bull, and Cassandra. Then she is seen a lot with her advisors, presumably preparing for the great battles that are ahead and incoming. Gossip and rumors are quickly to spread in the easy mouths, and it becomes know at last the Inquisitor had a relationship. And that there was a broken heart in the midst of it. For the load of work the dalish elf takes every night to her chambers, people (and only some of them) assume it was the Inquisitor herself who got hurt in the process. But who was the lover, the fool that didn't take his chance with the Herald of Andraste? No clue. They were discreet, he can give himself that much.

Blackwall is worried, to say the least. She doesn't go to the tavern, she doesn't take any breaks, and barely sees her eat. Only when they take a small break in the camps after all that walking and fighting. That's when he feels himself sigh in relief. He knows he doesn't have the right to care for her in such way or get so worried but he can't help it. Which is horrible. There is a pang of jealousy when she starts to get closer to Cole, to Bull. They think he doesn't listen, but he does: and he gathers they are close. Bull and her share tent from time to time, when they have to rest if it becomes too late to return to Shyhold. And Cole is seen returning from dawn from her bedchambers, but he is somehow reassured in a dream (which he presumes has something to do with him), in which it is confirmed that he just stands there, calm her down, takes the nightmares and dark away.

But Cullen is the real surprise. Blackwall is not much of a gossipy person, but it's surprising how much can a person learn from just standing quiet and not moving much. How can people talk so much is a mystery. But it is slowly confirmed that those long nights have been in the company of someone, who happened to be no other than the Commander itself. Surprisingly, there is no lewdness in their mouths, nothing perverted which makes him want to rip his skin off at times, as it happened with Bull. Everything that there is to say about them is perfectly normal and... Sweet. Which bugs him in the worst way. That's what he wanted to give her. He's not going to lie, of course, he is not that big of a hypocrite: he also desired her in a carnal way, but it wasn't vital. Had she not want to until the day of their wedding, he would have wait... And there he was again with all that meaningless rant about him and her.

But then there were the glances. The little smiles. Solas and the Inquisitor had been seen together more; their friendship had become stronger, not that it was bad before. Now that he has seen them kiss, he suspects it was to merely maintain the act, and have a cover for her little walk to the Commander's tower. He shouldn't have been looking, but from the barn, one glance up did it fine: and he supposes it was a casual kiss, something she was used to, because her shoulders seemed relaxed (not like when they were together) and her smile had been lazy, but real. Blackwall really could catch up the details when he wanted to. 

He wondered when had it happened. And while he did so, his heart hurt.


	2. Attempt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thom "im totally over her but im not really tho?" rainier at temple of dumat, UNEXPECTED plot and maybe closure in next chapter, enjoy

While the group didn't know much about what was going on, the Commander itself seemed so into it that he requested to join the mission to the Shrine of Dumat. Some of them knew something about Samson, but barely as much as what the songs described and what rumors had reached Skyhold and some nobles. For the Commander to be so interested on something, Blackwall at least deduced that it was something rather important and that would have relevant consequences regarding Corypheus. Or that was his little knowledge, from the whispers here and there between advisors and the Inquisitor. Strangely enough, since the kiss he hadn't seen them both again alone, at least. Blackwall deduced it was due to how quickly gossip spread - they wanted to be careful. Maybe because they weren't that close, they weren't serious? For the little dalish and elven knowledge he had, relationships were an important event in the life of the elves of the clans; bonding specially was regarded as something which marked the come of age in a lot of cases. She had confessed at some point, when the two of them had been alone outside, that the Lavellan clan was specially traditional. She then explained that marriage and  _bonding_ between different species was not well-regarded; the ones in the higher ranks had the chance to leave the clan if they proved their worthiness and independence to pursue another life, with someone different. Hers had not been that case, and she was originally to be married to someone she had never met. The Inquisitor when talking at the time, didn't seem to have any problem with it, but maybe it was due to the fact that that was no longer the case. Who would have expected  _the_ Hunter of the Lavellan's to be marked as Andraste's Herald? The future that was once planned for her, no longer existed. Her bonds with the clan had been diminished, and it had been hard for her to know that the clan had given her up after an exchange of herbs and goods. As if her existence had been reduced to a value of supplies.

She still held some of them near, a personal request it had been, very close to the little table next to her bed. Maybe Blackwall hadn't been the best company in the moment, but he had stayed close and always to her reach in case she wanted to talk about it. The only time she had asked for information about the Lavellan's had been not too long after the aid the Inquisition sent for the protection of their lands in the north. After, the silence had reigned the room. Then, she was gone to another mission, another place.

But he knew she still felt something for her clan, for her family. They were her blood after all. At the Emerald Graves the Inquistor's eyes had been full of melancholy, and a strange absence had surrounded her while looking at the walls full of paintings and strange symbols. The dalish culture was beautiful, he could admit that much, but it was also cruel. She had no place to go, or return to. Maybe a visit, but with not an option for a long stay. 

She had confessed once to Bull that she missed her bed back in the her home; the morning dew and the breeze of the north which announced winter. The climate was not very stable and it was cold mostly, thus she was used to long and exhausting hunts, finding good spots in cold regions to avoid freezing and most importantly avalanches. At some point she had had something similar, at Haven. Blackwall guessed she missed that. And sometimes he did go out on his own to explore, and do some training alone as he was used to; maybe he was even tempted then to share some good spots with her, but with what excuse now? He brought her flowers from his favorite spots when they were  _something_ , and it was a gesture that was well-appreciated in silence, with shy smiles and blushes, but nothing more. How could he dare to take the much valuable Inquisitor's time for some silly short trip to the little valley he founded down Skyhold? No, no, he could never be such a burden to the Inquisition.

The travel to the Shrine of Dumat was to be of recon, mostly, but things didn't go the way they were planned. Blackwall should have know the first minute Cullen had appeared with his armor and weapons, just like one of the main characters of Varric's novel, ready to save the day. He was the epitome of hero. He was well-received by most of them, but decided to maintain certain distances with the Inquisitor, which it seemed, hurt her a bit. But Blackwall knew all of her expressions, and saw that she had put on a mask: she was not stupid, and wouldn't get too much excited about it, like a little girl. She had grown up too much, too fast.

* * *

They didn't even camp, as they assumed they would not be there more than half a day. Even so it, some soldiers had come with them as a reinforcement, in case they needed it, and as usual, a small tent for the hurt ones was installed. Bull and Cassandra had been talking before Blackwall had joined them, and whatever the topic was, they just lowered their voices and changed it to armors and sparring techniques. Blackwall was confused with their attitude, but as he raised his eyes, he knew why.

Cullen and her were some steps ahead of them, apparently talking about the map. But their hands were too close, their shoulders brushing; she was a bit tanned, so it wasn't that obvious for anyone else, but Blackwall immediately recognized the faint blush in her cheeks. Cullen's neck was red too, but that could have been due to the cruel sun (Blackwall knew it wasn't the case). Thus, it made one think: did they still believe that he wasn't over it? Of course it had been hard, but it was no longer in his mind. His heart had broken that day he had seen them kiss. He had had his time to mourn the loss of her presence, her laugh, her wit. Now it was all Cullen's. He had nothing to claim his, and it was a reality he was quick accepting. 

The sound of their voices were almost whispers, and he wished he had not seen her smile, hide that quiet laughter as well as that cheeky grin that always took age off her. It made him feel guilty at times: it was truly in a one-on-one position that one got to know the real Inquisitor, the one behind the position and the heavy burden she always carried. They didn't discuss age, but it was always clear that she was the younger one. The years were more clear on Blackwall's face, and there was no judgment on his behalf, for being tempted by the Dalish foreign beauty... And at first it might have been that. She was exotic and mysterious, with a rough exterior and a sensitivity that at times made him think she didn't belong to this world, to this age. Did the Commander really treasure that? Had he had the privilege to learn the little things about her that made her so special? It was an honor to enter her heart and leave if only a slight mark and remembrance; that should be enough, and even if he had tried to convince himself of it, somehow it was still not enough.

Blackwall could not help but notice the way her eyes shone when they look at Cullen's - but was it requited? It stranged him so, as it wasn't. How could he resist, how could he not? Was it out of shyness, or professionalism? Taking his strict and always correct personality into account, he thought more probable the second. There was a certain way, though, that he noticed Cullen looked at her. He couldn't say what, couldn't find a correct way to describe it, but it felt intimate to notice the little glances. Was it the eyes of someone who would die for her, that he caught, or those of one that idealize her too much? He knew she hated that, as it made her feel more isolated from the rest. Varric generally took care of that, making her feel part of the group; but due to them being both Rogues, they didn't share terrain as often as she would have liked. She felt safer with Warriors, like Cassandra, Bull or him, even if what they had had turn awry. He was not going to make things more difficult. 

"Cassandra? We have a question". Her tone was indifferent, slightly worried, which made all of them turn suspicious, but no one said anything. They discussed something out of reach, something that made Cassandra point at a couple of places in the Temple, and then proceeded to enter it. He hoped it would all turn well.

* * *

 

It was hard. Coming out of the Temple was even harder. Blackwall had to give it to Cullen, though: he fought like a lion, it was a title well-earned. The formation was a bit more difficult than usual, it was... Cramped. There weren't many Warriors generally defending a Rogue; a Magician would have been beneficial for the fight, it slowed things in a way, but it was all in all the Inquisitor's choice. Cullen's style of combat threw Bull off his way for the start; he was used to have all the space his partners could give him, but Cullen was... Bossy, to say the least. He liked to direct attacks, have it all premeditated. It annoyed him a way that he could not describe, having to receive orders from someone else, specially, when she seemed to have no complaints about it. He was comfortable receiving her orders but... It did not feel right.

She seemed distracted. Everytime an arrow flew close to his head, a mace hit too hard his shield or a dagger brushed his skin, her attack after became voracious, deadly, but most importantly, uncontrolled. She if anything was a precise Rogue: always level-headed, precise shooter, in control. Cullen somehow made her lose it all: was she nervous of appearing worthless, small or insignificant in his presence? Was she nervous of a deadly wound, losing him? Something was bound to happen, specially when his head could not concentrate on anything but her unprotected right flank, or the big openings she left after a deadly shot. She was still precise after all; protected all of them when things got difficult or tricky, gave them a chance...

But when the time to choose comes, Blackwall knows in advance who will win...

(It doesn't mean it hurts any less.)

"CULLEN NO, DON-". There it is, the mace that makes his shield crack, that throws him off of his feet. It was Cassandra, and then it all happened at once.

He could see the dagger coming to his right side, directly, powerful attack, lethal maybe: but he is compromised, and trusts, really trusts for a second when he looks for her eyes that she will notice and defend him, help him out. But her bow, her arrow is already pointing to the Warrior's neck, his face; she can't look, doesn't look at anybody else. Her eyes move desperate to Cullen after shooting, and runs for him at the same time that he feels the blade entering his flesh. 

"Blackwall!". It sounds feminine, and for a second, makes him think it is her, her Lavellan, her adored-but no. It is Cassandra as he falls onto his knee, clutches his side and waits for his head to get chopped off, die instantly, go to Andraste, whatever his destiny may be. 

She chose him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

He doesn't die. As expected. But the pain in his side is barely tolerable, he can't move and it makes him groan in frustration. He knows where he is immediately by the cold of the night, the sand that sometimes gets in when the wind blows and the cloth of the tent if his eyes are open long enough. 

 "Thom? Are you awake?". Distinctive, unmistakable, he growls as he tries to get up. A smaller hand stops him, pauses in his chest, just long enough to make him give up in his attempt to get up. But truthfully, just seeing her eyes made him stop struggling, as it was not needed. It is really her. "I'm sorry. I owed you that much... Do you want me to stay?"

And for a moment only, he thinks he has really died and go to Andraste's arms.

"Please, stay".

She smiles, and concedes.

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added as chapters are uploaded. Mature for now, rating will change (to E bc with Cullen things are bound to get steamy!)


End file.
